While Not Working

1.  The weather forecast is not to be trusted. 2.  K-mart rain jackets don't keep out the rain.  How do I know this?  Let me tell you the soggy story.  I decided to ride from Mount Barker to Milang: it was all downhill (in theory anyway) and with the end of January breathing down my neck I had yet to clock up my 200km for the month. It wasn't a slow getaway.  We had to do some important things like change over our driver's licences and car registration, meaning we could no longer call ourselves Queenslanders nor blame any traffic fumbles on being from out-of-state and not knowing where we're going.  Rain sprinkled gently on Roger's head as he screwed on our new SA plates.  Rain pattered gently as we did our grocery shopping, and little rivulets of water gushed merrily across the carpark outside the window as we ate our Subway lunch. "Are you sure about this?" said Roger. "The weather forecast says it's lessening the closer I get to Milang," I

Over the last couple of days we've hung out with steam trains, sailed on paddle steamers, watched all manner of steam engines do their thing, and spectated at a vintage tractor pull. So it made sense that we should keep the theme going with a visit to the National Motor Museum in Birdwood. Back before the NMM, we had the Blumberg flour mill ( because Birdwood used to be Blumberg) which was built in 1988 and abandoned in the 1940's. In 1964 the building was purchased by motoring enthusiasts Jack Kaines and Len Vigar to house their collections. They opened the Museum to the public, with curios, collectables, objets d’art, and an aircraft competing for space alongside the motoring collection. After a brief sojourn under the guardianship of private shareholders the South Australian Government bought the Museum in 1976 to prevent the collection from being dispersed.  Since 1982 the Museum has been the responsibility of the History SA and n December 1998 the new pavilion was ope

After a month of Goolwa's summer, our days punctuated by the distant whistle of the steam engine as the Cockle Train carried tourists back and forth between Goolwa and Vincent Harbor, we had to leave. Our home owner was safely back in the country so we said goodbye to the cats, the dog, the chooks, and the steam train.  We had half a day to kill before we could check into our next accommodation, and the day was forecast to be hot and sunny.  We ambled our way to Clayton Bay, on Lake Alexandrina and just across from the back end of Hindmarsh Island.  Last time I was at Clayton Bay there was not a soul to be seen, but now Summer had worked its magic:  the car park was stuffed full of 4wds and empty boat trailers, the water buzzed with skiers and fishers.  There was even an open pub/cafe! Progress happens, even in places like Clayton Bay.  See?  Absolute throngs of people!   Not that it was progress enough to induce us to spend time in Clayton Bay, on we went to Milang for a picnic lu

On Friday morning the Tour Down Under (TDU) was due to come through the main street of Goolwa, navigating two right hand bends at which, declared Roger with a disturbing amount of anticipatory glee, they were going to crash. "We'll stand just there! That will be the best view of the crashes!" Hmmmm. The thing about elite bike races is the whole bike race bit, from a spectator's point of view, only lasts as long as it takes for a pack of pretty boys to blast past at speeds such that their skin tight Lycra affords them no protection in the event of a crash which is the only reason the more ghoulish spectators are there anyway.  Those onlookers dedicated to the race might run back to their cars and risk contributing to the growing road toll by driving recklessly to intercept the race at another point, to rinse and repeat until the finish line. The rest of the crowd stays in town and Goolwa, presented with a crowd in the mood to entertained, pulled out all its stops for p